


a mark of belonging

by the_ragnarok



Series: the only one in my skin [3]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Anal Sex, Animal Play, Begging, Crying, D/s, Double Penetration, Humiliation kink, M/M, Nipple Clamps, Nipple Play, Praise, Sex Toys, Subspace, Trans Jonathan Sims, Trans Male Character, Trans Martin Blackwood, Vaginal Sex, emotionally significant jewelry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:15:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23559703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_ragnarok/pseuds/the_ragnarok
Summary: Jon talks Martin into giving the trans support group another try.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Series: the only one in my skin [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1686532
Comments: 32
Kudos: 456





	a mark of belonging

**Author's Note:**

> as always many thanks to mx_carter for beta and to exmoose for handholding <3

Martin's up to his elbow in suds. Jon's on the sofa, thinking out loud as he goes through his schedule for next week, and Martin answers with the occasional, "Mmhm," to show willing.

Until Jon says, "Oh, and I should really find something to do on Tuesday or Georgie will want me to speak at EnTransed again-- Martin?"

At the last minute Martin rescues the plate he'd almost dropped, but not before it clangs into three different pots. (Why does cooking use up so many dishes? He's certain he's doing something wrong, even if Jon insists Martin's picking it up quickly and well.) "It's alright," Martin says. "Just, uh, slipped from my hand."

Jon pads from the sofa to lean on the kitchen table behind Martin. Martin looks down at the dishes in front of him, feeling himself flushing under Jon's scrutiny. "I don't think that's what happened," Jon says. "Is it?"

The thing is, Martin is an excellent liar. The reason Jon knows he's lying isn't to do with any tells of his. According to Jon, he has a mental model of how Martin thinks, and any deviations from the model are interesting to investigate, and can point at inconsistencies. Martin sometimes wonders whether Jon has some kind of subconscious telepathy, but of course Jon scoffs at the idea.

And, at any rate, Martin doesn't _like_ lying to him. He deflates with a sigh. "The topics of Georgie and EnTransed are a bit of a sore spot."

That doesn't mean Jon leaves well enough alone; of course not. Jon has never met a sore spot he didn't want to press. He reins himself in well enough, but by this point, he lets himself be as cutting and inquisitive as he wants to with Martin. Martin, in turn, loves the pain Jon gives him the same way he'd love a sharp-clawed kitten climbing up his trousers.

"What about it?" Jon says, and Martin can hear wheels turning in his head. "I seem to recall last time gave you a very strong bout of imposter syndrome - was it something Georgie did?"

"No, not at all," Martin hastens to say. He gives his hands a quick rinse, wipes them on his apron and turns to face Jon. "It's just that I don't feel like I acquitted myself particularly well, you know?"

A wry smile flickers across Jon's face. "Remind me to tell you about my first visit there. I assure you, Georgie has seen much, much worse than whatever you've done."

"Still. I wish I could have left a better impression."

Jon's expression turns calculating, and Martin's heart skips a beat in a combination of wariness, arousal and elation. "You know," Jon says, trying to be casual and being very bad at it, "you could come again and try to repair that impression."

Martin cringes, a full body motion. Jon goes to him, cups his face in his hands and says, "You're embarrassed, aren't you?" Martin gives a tiny nod. "Ashamed?" Another such nod. "In a bad way?"

Martin hesitates. "Not in a sexy way."

"Not what I asked. Try again."

Martin allows himself to slump, allows Jon's hands to hold his face up. "No. Not in a bad way." He trembles as he says it. He's scared shitless of this, of how much it'll hurt.

But the naked hunger on Jon's face, the way Jon lights up at making Martin squirm, so long as he's not really hurt - that's worth being brave. "Come with me," Jon says. He presses his forehead against Martin's, hands still on Martin's cheeks. "I'll watch over you."

Martin shuts his eyes, and in a small voice says, "Okay."

* * *

On Tuesday morning, Jon is looking shifty. Martin holds his tongue; Jon will come to him in his own time. He can't hide anything important for long anyway.

It comes out as they leave the Institute for the meeting, and Jon pulls him into one of the unused offices. "I have something to show you."

Martin raises his eyebrows. "Changed your mind about office sex, have you?"

Jon's back snaps straight. "I have not," he says, insufferably stuffy in a way Martin still finds endearing. Then he hunches a little. "I. Ah." He purses his lips and pulls something out of his bag: a small jewelry box.

Martin takes it, flummoxed. He has to be prompted to open it, and when he does, he sees a gold chain with a pendant. Martin takes a closer look. It's a miniature cowbell. He shakes the box, and it rings. 

"I'm sorry," Jon says, after Martin spends a few seconds dumbly staring at the thing. "I, I overstepped, I thought," he tries to take away the box.

Martin snatches his hand. "No!" He closes his hand around the box, clutches it to his chest. "Um. I mean. I. I want it." Saying the words makes heat spread down his face. 

Jon's face lights up again. "You do?"

Martin briefly shuts his eyes. "I really do."

Unnecessarily, Jon says, "It's so you remember I'm right there with you." He looks at the door, whips out his phone and writes, *And you're a good cow.* He doesn't even send the words, just shows them to Martin there on his own phone, looking studiously away. 

Martin's blush grows scarlet. "For the love of God, Jon, don't make me get hard. I mean it."

Jon's eyes glint. "It is a shame I haven't changed my stance on office shenanigans, isn't it?" But he doesn't press any further, only says, "Shall I help you put it on?"

With considerable relief, Martin bows his head and lets Jon clasp the chain on the back of his neck. For a moment, Jon is all around him, warmth and presence, and Martin can be a simple creature, nothing but needs and wants.

Then Jon retreats, and offers Martin his arm. "Shall we?"

He does want to be brave. For Jon. Martin nods and takes his arm.

* * *

The chain might well be magic. With it on, the world feels easier, vaguer, like a watercolor rendition of what it is. Even car exhaust on the street seems to plume like mystical smoke. 

Jon stops him before they enter the meeting place, cupping Martin's face in his hands. "You don't have to say anything if you don't want to," Jon tells him. "I'll handle introductions. Just stay close to me." 

As though Martin had any intention of doing anything else. 

They go up to the relevant floor. The door opens for them. Jon greets Gerry and pays for himself and Martin, then lays his hand on the small of Martin's back.

Gerry's eyebrows climb up. "So it's like that, is it?"

The pleased little smile Martin likes so much takes residence on Jon's face. "It is indeed," Jon says. 

Gerry gives Martin a questioning look, but doesn't ask him anything. Jon leads him away.

They run into Georgie next. She offers Jon a hug, but takes it gracefully when he shakes his head. She doesn't seem surprised at how close he is to Martin, only gives him a knowing smile. Martin can't quite hear what they say to each other over the hubbub of the room, but Jon seems calm, and that's all Martin needs right now. 

After that, they find a seat. Jon puts his arm over the back of Martin's chair, and Martin melts into his presence. Distantly, he thinks he might have worried on another day about looking silly given how much bigger he is than Jon. Right now, though, Jon feels like he takes up the entire room, levelling the ground so there's nothing to stumble on. 

As the speakers come up, Martin gradually comes back to himself. Today they have an author talking about getting published as a writer of queer romance, a teacher telling of how her students and their parents reacted to her transition, and a doctor of media studies talking about online community building and, for some reason, ancient Sumerian myths.

"Are you back with us?" Jon says softly as the speakers disperse and everyone settles into little discussion groups. Martin nods. "Want to stay and join? Sit it out? Or go home?"

To Martin's surprise, his answer is, "I think I can manage joining a group." He peeks at the rest of the room. "You pick one, though."

They end up in the same group as the media studies doctor, who takes up most of the discussion time, this time with anecdotes about lecturing in science fiction conventions. Martin doesn't mind in the least. 

As they finish, Georgie stops by. Martin, haltingly, apologizes for running off last time.

"Nothing to be sorry for," Georgie says. For a moment, her gaze has the same piercing quality Jon has, and Martin is reminded that Jon called her his ex. "The first time can be rough. I hope this time was better?"

"It was," Martin says, relieved to be telling the truth. "I mean, last time was great too! Just. Um."

Georgie waves him off. "I get it. It's always easier to attend with someone to support you."

Jon, whose hand has migrated to rest on the nape of Martin's neck, smiles and says nothing.

* * *

Back at Jon's flat, Jon idly says, "You were very brave today." He turns around and puts a finger over Martin's lips before Martin can protest. "I think you should have a reward."

Okay, Martin isn't going to argue with that. "What do I need to do?"

Jon has him take off everything, then get on knees and elbows on Jon's bed, as Jon himself sits up against the headboard. Jon motions him to come forward. He leans to whisper in Martin's ear, "Good cows get milked."

As he retreats, Martin can see the subtle blush on Jon's face. Overcome by affection, he rubs his cheek against Jon's hand, rewarded with another of Jon's smiles. 

Martin shudders as Jon's sure fingers tug at his nipples, over and over. Not very hard, but relentless, even as Martin squirms and pants. 

Jon looks at him intently. "What do you want?" The words are barely more than a whisper.

Martin's face is brick red. "Something in my mouth." He closes his eyes with mortification. He doesn't think that's what Jon wants to hear; Jon hasn't permitted the gag since they each learned who the other was. 

But Jon turns to open the bedside drawer and takes out a rainbow-striped dildo. He hesitates with it in his hand. "What if I-- here?" He settles it gingerly so it juts out from his crotch.

Martin can't help his moan, mouth watering. "Yes. Please."

Jon pulls out a couple of clothespins from the same drawer, pinching one over each nipple. "Alright. Go on, now." He holds the toy steady with one hand and cups the back of Martin's head in the other. He doesn't push Martin down, though, only keeps him there, steady and wanted.

Martin doesn't bother with bobbing up and down. He lets himself be selfish, lets himself be filled by the silicone presence. Swallows a little to make himself tear up the way Jon likes. By Jon's content humming, Martin figures he got it right. 

After a few minutes, Martin's jaw, nipples and cock all ache. He pulls off to beg. "Please let me come." He feels slick dripping down his thighs. 

Jon's eyes gleam. He taps Martin on the side to get him to lie down on his back, taps him on the thigh to spread his legs. For a few moments he just sits there, looking at Martin all exposed, expression hungry. Martin squirms, pinned by his gaze. "Fingers or toy?" Jon asks. Martin mewls, thighs tensing, feeling cold air where he's wet and tender. "Ah, or should I suggest both?" 

Martin tries to wait and let Jon decide, but it seems like Jon's not feeling merciful today. "Both," Martin whispers, feeling greedy.

Jon looks so excited, though, that Martin can't be upset with his own choice. "I thought so." He rubs his fingers against Martin's back hole. "Like this? And the toy in your cunt?" Martin answers with a whimper and a desperate nod. 

It takes a while, Jon refusing to be rushed as he prepares Martin, but finally they get there: the dildo pushing into Martin from one hole as Jon's fingers push in from the other side, clothespins set aside and Martin's nipples throbbing still. He struggles to breathe, caught up in humiliation and arousal and overstimulation. His cock stands up, eager for contact. "Please. Please touch my cock."

"You ask so nicely," Jon murmurs, eyes bright. He pushes the dildo deep inside Martin and angles his hand so the heel rests right against Martin's cock. "Go on, then."

Too far gone for shame, Martin grinds himself into coming on Jon's hand, long and messy, shouting when Jon leans forward to take one of Martin's nipples in his mouth and bites down. He comes fast, which is good, because a minute after he does Jon loses his balances and falls down on him.

Martin lets out an _oof_ when Jon's pointy elbow gets him in the stomach. Jon snatches himself up like a scalded cat and starts to apologise when Martin reaches to grab him into a hug. 

"Thank you," Martin says, voice thick, his tongue feeling barely under control. 

Jon leans into the hug, then edges away and goes to wash his hands. Martin lets him, lying down on the bed and feeling the pleasant buzz all throughout his body. 

When Jon comes back, he grabs his phone and types into it for a few minutes. Then he puts it down, and Martin hears his own phone chime in the next room. He attempts to rise with a groan, only to be stalled by Jon laying a hand on his chest and pushing him down. "I'll bring it," Jon says.

He does. Martin takes the phone and reads, *Thank you for coming with me today. It was immensely satisfying to show you off. You are always beautiful, but I find you more so than ever when you push yourself for me.*

"Jon," Martin whispers, tearing up again. Jon pulls at him until Martin's head is resting in his lap, his fingers running through Martin's hair. He pulls, just a little, but the prickle of pain is enough to make Martin cry properly, even as Jon's other hand rests proprietarily on his neck.

"You're so good." Jon's voice is low, almost rusty-sounding. "Come here." He encourages Martin to bury his face in Jon's stomach, so he needs to only hear Jon's heartbeat and breathing; regular, even sounds. Martin closes his eyes and lets himself drift.


End file.
